Wholly Unnecessary
by BeautifulBestseller
Summary: Season 2 episode 4 of white collar. Peter punishes Neal for risking his life. Got spanking in it, don't like don't read. (that means don't read it, not read it and then leave a snarky review xox)
1. Chapter 1

Neal knew. Neal knew the moment he got Mozzie's text that only read _GUNS._ if he made it out of there alive, Peter was going to _have_ him. It was a shame, he mused to himself as his shaky hands locked the door between him and the murderous Columbians. He'd been doing so well recently. No harebrained impulsiveness, no lying. He was sure that Peter would put this lapse down to the fact that it had been a while since his last _reminder_. As Peter liked to term it.

Still, Neal felt the familiar sense of relief flood through his body as he heard the familiar voice of his boss and friend. And soon to be murderer. Adrenaline flooding through his body, Neal breathed again. The relief was short lived when Peter gave him the two finger beckon. Trying to look calm and collected, Neal edged out of the room and stood next to Diana. The looks Peter were shooting him were nothing short of murderous. Great.

Outside, Neal knows that it is only the presence of Diana and Mozzie that saves him from the wrath of Peter. Peter has always been clear with him - there are two unillegal crimes that he won't let Neal commit with him. He isn't allowed to lie, and he isn't allowed to risk his life. On the ride back to the Bureau, Mozzie's nervous fussing starts to grate a little on Neal. There he was, an unspecified amount of time away from a punishment, _because_ of Mozzie, and Mozzie couldn't even man up enough to enter the FBI headquarters like a man.

"They might scan my fingerprints, they might take a copy of my retinal data or, or-"

"Moz, shut _up_ , would you?" Neal snapped. "We're trying to help you."

Neal saw Diana's eyes narrow slightly in confusion and knew she was wondering why Neal was so antsy with his friend. Peter's face remained impassive as he drove, but his eyes flicked to the rear-view mirror to catch Neal's eye. He raised his eyebrows, silently asking if Neal was ok. Neal dipped his head, once, and went back to staring out of the window.

In his office, with Neal and Mozzie sat in front of him like two naughty pupils in front of their principal, Peter looked like a raging bull. His deep breaths were unnerving Neal. Neal could only pray that Mozzie was so worked up about Gina that he wouldn't pause to consider why Peter seemed disproportionately annoyed. As they explained what had happened, Neal tried his very best to be respectful, holding back every cheeky comment that flew to mind. He didn't want to test how short Peter's fuse was. Not with Mozzie in the room.

Diana came in with the ping on Gina, and before Neal knew what was happening, they were all on their way to surveille the park. Neal was two steps behind Mozzie when Peter caught his arm, holding him back. Neal gulped and looked up into Peter's angry brown eyes.

"You follow my instructions to the letter," Peter growled in his ear. "We might not have time to deal with this now, but don't think you're getting away with this stunt."

"I don't," Neal said quietly. "Peter -"

"Save it," Peter interrupted. "I'm too angry for it now. Save it till later." He released Neal's arm and, before Neal had time to move, pulled him into a crushing hug. Neal hugged back, the fear he had felt earlier seeping out of his bones.

"I was scared," Neal said quietly as Peter clasped him tightly.

"I know," Peter replied, squeezing the man's shoulder as he released him. He knew Neal inside out. He'd seen the fear; he'd seen the relief when he showed up. That was why he would continue to uphold the arrangement they had, however unconventional it may be. Neal had come to rely on his. He had become a safety net. "Don't leave my side. I mean it. Let's get this sorted, so that at least you didn't risk your life for nothing."

Of course, nobody anticipated what happened next. Neal felt like his heart was going to stop when he watched Mozzie walking towards the mobsters. In disbelief, he watched his best friend walk away, a gun to his ribs and _nothing_ any of them could do to help him. Peter's hand on his arm, heavy and reassuring, was the only thing that kept him grounded. And then, of course, the perfect exchange realisation that Mozzie, as middleman, had become dispensable. Neal could have cried. Ready to burst from the car, Peter's warm hand stopped him again. Calmly, methodically and without panic, Peter sorted out the situation. As Neal embraced Mozzie, he was torn between wanting to continue the hug and throttling his best friend.

"Worst day of my life, Moz," he muttered into the smaller man's ear.

"Wine?" Mozzie asked.

"Of -" Neal stopped in the middle of his agreement as he spotted Peter's expectant face in the background. With the stress of the past few hours, and Mozzie's danger, Neal had forgotten about his own situation. He shot a pleading look at Peter, which was met with a stern raised eyebrow. "I need to go back with the Suit," he said. "We've got some more work to do. Anyway, I think what you need is a huge nap. Recover from the adrenaline."

"Yeah you're probably right," Mozzie chuckled. "I owe you."

"You owe Peter," Neal countered. "He did it all. He always does."

And Neal knew, he had never spoken truer words.

* * *

"Do you get it now?" Peter asked, from his position on the sofa. Neal stood in front of him, nervously fiddling with his trouser leg.

"Get...it?" Neal asked. He never knew how Peter expected him to concentrate at times like these, as he sat there on the sofa, with his big strong arms preparing to mangle Neal's ass.

"I saw your face when we got to Mozzie and he was okay," Peter said gruffly. "You looked like you could happily have strangled him. That is what you put me through, Neal, every time you put your life at risk."

"Yeeees," Neal said slowly, not wanting to validate Peter. "But let's be honest, Peter, we can be worried about people without smacking their butts. I mean, like, I am going _nowhere_ near Mozzie's nether regions, let me tell you now."

"Did you really think that was going to work?" Peter raised an eyebrow.

"Peter, let's _think_ about this," Neal said, holding his hands up in a placating manner. The urge to con his way out of the situation was as strong as it ever was. "None of this was my fault. It was all Mozzie's idea, you see, and Mozzie is normally...er...reliable. So. I'm not really culpable. Now, I understand you are annoyed about the _very slight_ risk to my life this morning, but if you want the culprit for that, I suggest you go and grab Mozzie and pull _his_ pants down-"

"Caffrey," Peter interrupted sharply, holding a hand up. His face looked instantly more annoyed than it had a minute ago. "The situation is by the by. I don't _care_ what happened. I don't _care_ what Mozzie did. I care what you did. Or, more specifically, didn't do."

"Er...so...you're not going to spank Mozzie?" Neal tried, one last time to bring humour to his demise.

"Are you done?" Peter growled.

"Am I...er… yes. Sir. Yes. Done." Neal backtracked at the sudden fury in Peter's long suffering eyes.

"Good. Okay. Tell me. What is my number one rule for you, Neal?" Peter asked.

"Sit at home like an obedient little lap dog until the FBI require my services," Neal snarked, before his brain could catch up. Peter was on his feet and moving towards Neal, leaving him no time to retract. Peter's hand locked like iron around Neal's arm and he was dragging Neal along. To Neal's surprise, he didn't end up face down over the man's knee. Instead, Peter was dragging him towards the door. Two steps from the door, the elder man released him and looked pointedly at the door.

Neal looked at the door, and then back at Peter.

"Peter?"

"If that is what you think, Neal, we have nothing more to say here," Peter said quietly, a vein throbbing dangerously in his temple. "Our arrangement is centred around our bond outside of work. If you think that my rule for you is to obey me in an FBI capacity, then you need to go home, and I will see you at work bright and early on Monday."

"Peter, c'mon," Neal mumbled quietly, staring at the carpet. "You know...you know this isn't easy for me. I… say the wrong thing. I… this is hard, you know."

"And has it not worked?" Peter asked gently, taking a step forwards and tilting Neal's chin with a finger so the man is looking at him. "Does this not help? Knowing that I care, knowing that there is finally someone who _needs_ you alive and well? When was the last time you did something like this? It's been months, Neal."

"I knew you would say that," Neal muttered resentfully. "In that room. Even seconds from death, I knew you would say that."

Peter tries to school the grin that spreads across his face, but it's hard. He loves the damn kid far too much.

"Well let's work on you knowing that _before_ you broke in," Peter replied sternly. "Ready to try that answer again?"

"Number one rule is…" Neal was going to say something else ridiculous, to cut the tension he was feeling, but Peter's face told him no. He sighed, stuck his hands in his pocket and tried not to blush. "I'm not to put myself in dangerous situations, instead I'm supposed to come to you. I am actually sorry, though, this time Peter. I… it was impulsive. I didn't think."

"This time," Peter said, raising an eyebrow. "You told me you were sorry all the other times, too."

"Yeah, well," Neal said with his token cheeky grin. "What would you say if a Neanderthal was whaling on _your_ ass?"

"Nice," Peter said, shaking his head as he turned and headed back to the sofa. "Real nice. Come here. And lose the pants."

" _Lose_ them?" Neal shot back quietly. "Where does one _lose_ a pair of pants in a house as small as-"

" _Caffrey._ "

With hands that definitely are _not_ shaking (Neal doesn't shake), Neal undoes his suit trousers and slips them off, folding them neatly and putting them on the table. He opened his mouth to express his concern about not obeying Peter's orders as he still knew where he wants were-

"Don't even think about it," Peter growled over the intake of breath. "One more smartass comment, and I'm going to use the belt on you. You deserve it, really, after what you pulled."

Neal is surprised. He was sure that he was in for his worst punishment yet, which definitely included an extended session with the belt. Curious, he crossed the room towards Peter more willingly than he'd ever done before. He stood a metre away from the man, head cocked. Peter couldn't help but think he looked quite adorable; he looked exhausted, his shirt hanging down over his black boxers, green ankle socks sticking out and his uncharacteristically ruffled hair standing on end.

"No belt?" Neal asked quietly.

"I know you, Neal," Peter replied. "This time, I can tell that you know exactly what you did wrong. Aside from your frankly disturbing attempts to get me to spank Mozzie, your behaviour after the event convinced me that you know exactly what you did wrong."

"Not _wrong_ per se," Neal said, unable to ever just shut his mouth. "Just… misguidedly. But, nobody died and-"

"Neal, if I were you, I would come here and accept the hand spanking before you make it worse for yourself," Peter sighed exasperated. That was the problem with Neal. Never knew when to shut up.

Oh, and the other problem. No part of him would allow him to swallow his pride _quite_ far enough to graciously present himself for punishment.

Neal stood in front of him, shifting from green socked foot to green socked foot, fingers fiddling with the bottom of his shirt as he eyed the door. Peter sighed. _How much longer did Neal want this damned day to be?_

"I was proud of you today," Peter said quietly. Neal's eyes flew from the door to him, narrowed in confusion.

"Yeah?" Neal said quietly, eyes flitting back to the door and then back to Peter.

"Yeah," Peter said. "I could see that you were trying. In my office, and on the case. You were really trying to own what you had done, and be responsible, and fix it. I was proud."

"Even though I nearly died?" Neal asked, still shifting from foot to foot.

"Even though you nearly got yourself killed," Peter corrected, standing up slowly. Usually, he did this more forcefully. But usually, Neal was more obstinate and unsure of what he had done wrong. Today, Peter sensed that a more gentle tack would be just as effective. "Why do we do this Neal?" Peter asked as he gently took Neal's wrist and tugged him over to the sofa.

"Because you're a-"

"Don't," Peter warned, raising an eyebrow at the cheeky look on Neal's face. "I'm being soft, today. Don't push me."

"Because you care about me," Neal replied. "And I do things without thinking."

"Right," Peter said, sitting down and guiding Neal over his lap. Neal almost stiffened up, but sensed that Peter was being peculiarly lenient and didn't want to push it too far, so allowed himself to be pulled down. "And that has been happening less and less recently. But I can't let it slide, kid. I can't lose you, Neal. What's this spanking for?"

"For fun, Peter," Neal joked before he could stop himself. Peter landed a sharp slap to Neal's thigh, causing the man to squawk comically and throw an arm back.

"Last chance, and all lenience is gone," Peter ground out.

"Right. Sorry," Neal said, twisting his head so he was looking at Peter. "I did something totally stupid, and risked my life by running headlong into something without telling you. I should have. I don't know why I didn't. I told Mozzie, you always do everything. You always sort it all. I know that. I'll remember that in future."

"Head down, Neal," Peter said gruffly, mostly so Neal wouldn't see the emotion on his face.

"You're crying," Neal informed the sofa cushion. "Neal Caffrey has melted the ice heart of - _ow_."

"Hold tight, kid," Peter warned quietly as he hooked his fingers into the waistband of Neal's boxers and pulled them down. Neal wound his arm behind him, resting it against the small of his back and Peter clasped it in his. Neal always insisted that this was to stop him reaching back, but they both knew it was for the comfort.

Peter didn't start gently. He wanted it to be over quickly, but he also needed Neal to know that this behaviour was unacceptable. Neal was so impulsive that a missed punishment would likely send him marching back to square one, and he'd start risking his life every day again.

Neal bit down on his lip as the first few swats landed, far harder than Peter's normal firm warm up. He squeezed Peter's hand tight. Peter started to spank in earnest, dealing harsh swats all over Neal's white skin. With each smack, Neal whimpered slightly and wriggled, trying to move himself out of the line of fire. Used to this, Peter trapped his legs with his right leg and shifted Neal forwards slightly.

Peter didn't lecture as he spanked, this time. Usually it was necessary. But Neal wasn't usually so repentant. Peter smirked as he thought about Neal's attempts to divert. The Neal he'd known when they'd first started working together would have been out of the door the second Peter offered him the choice. This Neal, the one squirming over his knee, knew he needed the discipline. However much he would swear blind, in an hour, that it had been wholly unnecessary.

Peter upped the ferocity of the swats as Neal's skin became pink under his firm handling and began to deepen to red. With each harsh swat, Neal's ass jiggled from the impact and briefly, fingerprint marks appeared before merging into the red hue of Neal's sore skin. Neal was holding his breath, trying to stay stoic as his ass burnt and hurt. And it was _so_ embarrassing. Nobody got to see Neal Caffrey's bare ass. Nobody.

"Let go, Neal," he heard Peter instructing him from far away.

And like that, the calm instruction broke the dam and all of the stress and fear of the day came rushing out. The way he had felt before Peter came to rescue him. The way he had felt before Peter rescued Mozzie. All of it. With each searing swat to his ask, Neal sobbed out the emotions of the day.

"If you ever, and I mean _ever,_ " Peter began, pausing in his onslaught. Neal took a deep breath, his skin burning. "Do something like this again, I am going to spank you with a belt every night for a week, do you understand?"

There was a slight pause, in which Neal sniffled and tried to catch his breath enough to speak.

"Is that… a working week or a seven day - _owww!_ "

"Neal, are you taking this seriously?" Peter growled, looking at the pink handprint that had formed on Neal's previously white thigh.

"Yes," Neal mewled, horrified at the onslaught on his poor thigh.

"A seven day week," Peter murmured dangerously. "Monday through Sunday. Do. You. Understand?"

"Yes, sir," Neal conceded, burying his face in his arms.

"Good boy," Peter said quietly, pressing down on the hand that Neal was clutching his with. "Now. I said I wasn't going to use the belt. But, you deliberately put yourself in a very dangerous situation. So these last twenty are going to be with the brush. Do not move."

Peter picked up the hairbrush which he had snagged earlier and rested it against Neal's red ass. Neal whined, his heart racing at the feeling of the dastardly object against his already aching butt. He made a mental note to steal and burn it later.

The first ten swats were delivered randomly over every inch of Neal's aching butt, and Neal bucked as much as was possible in Peter's tight hold. Neal was howling now, loud enough to possibly alarm the neighbours.

"Last ten, kid," Peter soothed. "You're doing good. Just… stop making the neighbours think I'm murdering someone."

"You are… you're murdering my ass," Neal choked around his repentful sobs.

"Noted," Peter said, steeling himself for the last ten. He knew he had been more lenient on Neal than the situation possibly demanded, and as such these last ten were going to serve the purpose of driving the lesson home. Before the kids pitiful sobs could persuade him otherwise, Peter gripped Neal's hand even tighter and smacked the hairbrush down on the top of Neal's right thigh.

Neal was too shocked by the impact to yell out, and broke off into another round of sobs as Peter brang the hairbrush down in a line down his thigh. Each swat left an angry, red, hair brush shaped mark. He did the same on the left thigh, holding a limply wriggling Neal tight as he lifted the brush high and delivered one more seering swat to the middle of Neal's ass.

Neal yelped, and then Peter felt all of the tension leave his taut form. Peter dropped the brush and slipped his hand under Neal's shirt, to rub his back. Neal cried. Peter's hands felt warm, and heavy, and safe, as usual. As he rubbed, Peter told Neal how proud he was again. He told him that he had taken it well, and that he could really see how hard Neal was trying. Gradually, with the gentle rubbing and the even gentler words, Neal began to calm down.

Once calm, Neal's pride always returned like being hit with a lorry and he scrabbled furiously for his boxers. Peter chuckled as Neal shot off his lap, red faced and teary eyed, his underwear already up and over his modesty.

"You act like I haven't just seen it all," Peter teased, lightly ruffling Neal's hair as he went to the kitchen for a beer and Neal's wine.  
They settled on the sofa to watch a film, some boring complex thought out thriller that Neal had chosen. Neal lay on his side, his head resting on Peter's hip. Peter absentmindedly stroked the boy's hair.

"I'm sorry, you know, Peter," Neal said, resolutely looking at the TV. "I know you'll always know what to do. I'll come to you next time."

"The wonders a sore butt can work," Peter teased, still stroking the tousled curls.

"Wholly unnecessary," Neal muttered. "But you know, whatever makes you feel better, old man."


	2. Chapter 2

It all started when Mozzie started hanging around with that stupid woman. Her name was _Dana_ and she liked to read Ancient Greek and eat profiteroles, and she wore glasses just like Mozzie's. At first, Neal had to suffer through hours of Mozzie pining after her, telling Neal how _great_ she was, how _smart_ she was, how _funny_ she was, how she was the _best company ever-_

"Oh thanks Moz, I'm hurt," Neal had interrupted, sipping his wine casually.

"Apart from you, of course," Mozzie had said quickly ,rolling his eyes. But gradually, that stopped being the case. Mozzie was _always_ with Dana. And when he did come round to Neal's, or invite Neal out for dinner, Dana _always_ came. Neal found her insufferably boring.

Neal had never been lonely before. He'd always had someone there. Usually Mozzie. And Peter. But work was light at the moment, and Peter was taking his chance to spend more and more time with Elizabeth.

Left to his own devices, and unable to forge anything or commit crime, he felt lost. Two whole weekends spent alone in a row were enough to convince him that life had nothing fun to offer without company or crime. What was he supposed to do? What did _normal_ people do when they were alone? He tried reading, but got bored. He tried painting, but it wasn't so much fun if it wasn't a forgery. He tried watching TV, but found it inane.

Early Sunday evening, he hit his threshold. He called Mozzie and got no reply. Peter and El were having dinner with his parents, he'd told him that on Friday. Neal amused himself for a few moments, imagining Peter's grumpy face if Neal crashed their dinner. Disappointingly, it was out of his radius.

A smirk flickered over his face as a plan began to form. He hadn't screwed up in so long, he was sure that this wouldn't be enough to push Peter over the edge into anger. But it might just get Neal some company for the evening.

He sprang up and pulled on a pair of jogging bottoms and a t-shirt, throwing his running trainers on too. He slipped his phone into his pockets, grabbed his water bottle and jogged downstairs.

"Going for a run," he beamed at June, who was playing bridge with her old ladies gang.

"Don't find any trouble," June smiled affectionately after him.

"Moi?" Neal asked, looking mock offended.

Seconds later he was flying along the pavements. He should run more often, he mused. It was freeing. He felt less caged and alone. He ran in as straight a line as possible, never sure where his radius actually ended and began. After fifteen minutes or so, he sped up, soon that soon he would be breaking the boundary. He grabbed his headphones and plugged them into his phone, turning his music up to full volume.

On cue, his anklet began to beep. He stuck his headphones in his ear and started to run a little faster, trying to keep the grin spreading across his face. He flicked his phone to silent and popped it into his pocket.

After ten minutes, he became aware of the sensation of being followed, but made sure to keep running forwards. He didn't want to give himself away. He kept running, trying not to let his pace falter. Moments later. Peter's car mounted the pavement in front of him and he slowed to a stop. Pulling his earphone out, he tried to catch his breath.

"Peter-" he said, raising an eyebrow. "What are you doing here?"

"More like, what are you doing _here_?" Peter growled, advancing on him from around the car. Neal ducked to the other side of the bonnet. Peter looked mildly annoyed, and it was never a good sign when he tried to get near to Neal with that look on his face.

"Running!" Neal protested, running a hand dramatically over his sweaty head to prove a point.

"Oh don't give me that crap," Peter snapped as he moved to corner Neal. Neal scuttled quickly round to the other side of the car, holding his hands up and pulling his best innocent face.

"Peter, woah, calm down-" Neal began. "Was I supposed to be somewhere tonight, or what?"

Peter narrowed his eyes, still moving round the car. Neal matched him step for step.

"Neal, don't tell me you don't know you're outside your radius," Peter exhaled, feigning to the left and diving for Neal. Neal ducked under his arm and ran to the other side of the car. He looked down at his anklet.

"Oh shit," he said. Time for the ultimate con. "Oh shit, Peter, I'm sorry! I didn't - I was just - I just needed to get out and I was running and my music was on and I wasn't thinking... Please, Peter, you _have_ to believe me. I haven't stepped a toe out of line in _forever,_ I wouldn't do it now -"

"Neal-"

"Shit, you're supposed to be at dinner with your parents," Neal gabbled, trying his best to look troubled and embarrassed. "You go, I'll run back… er… this way?" He pointed behind him and looked at Peter for confirmation.

"Get in the car," Peter snapped.

"Oh, it's no trouble, I'll just-"

"In. The. Car."

"I'm not in trouble am I?" Neal asked carefully. "It was an accident…"

"For good behaviour, I'll give you benefit of the doubt," Peter said, opening the door and leaning on it whilst he waited for Neal to get in. Neal beamed at him, feeling overly self-satisfied as he sauntered towards the car. As Neal passed Peter, the elder man brought his hand down unexpectedly against the seat of Neal's tracksuit bottoms. Neal squeaked and brought his hands back to cover himself, glowering at Peter.

"You still went out of your radius," Peter chuckled.

Neal, to his disappointment, was delivered to his flat in record time. His plan, of being taken back to Peter's house to spend the rest of the night with him and El, was foiled. He sat in the seat, trying not to look disappointed. Wouldn't want to give his con away.

"Neal? Is something up?" Peter asked when the young man made no move to get out of his car. "You don't usually run. Why not the gym?"

"No, no," Neal said, wondering if his voice sounded as empty as he felt. "Just… fancied it."

"Uh," Peter said. "Next time you just fancy it, run in a circle. Easier to stay in your radius."

"Right," Neal replied.

X X X

Cranky, lonely Neal didn't always think straight. Neal sat in his apartment at 2am on Monday morning, mulling over the events of the evening. He had gone outside his radius. Deliberately. Peter wasn't an idiot, yet he had swallowed Neal's story easily. Too easily. Probably, Neal mused, because he didn't care anymore. Like Mozzie. They all had lives that Neal didn't fit into anymore. He was just an inconvenience. Nothing more. Cranky, lonely Neal drank a whole bottle of wine, and fell into bed. He didn't set an alarm.

At half past nine, an irate Peter burst into his apartment. Expecting to see the con's abandoned anklet and an empty apartment, Peter was relieved to see the boy's mop of messy hair sticking out from under the duvet. He marched over to the bed and yanked the duvet off Neal.

"Nnnrgh!"

"Caffrey, is this some kind of joke?" Peter demanded sternly.

"Stop looking at me, pervy Peter," Neal whined sleepily, trying to cover his half naked body. _Aha. So maybe Peter_ _ **did**_ _care about him._

"You've got five minutes to get ready," Peter instructed, trying to hide his grin. Pervy Peter, that was a new one. "You're on a work release programme, Neal, you don't get to take days off."

Oh yeah. Right. Peter just cared about Neal's worth.

X X X  
A hungover and dishevelled Neal was unimpressed to discover that the day was to be spent in the surveillance van, watching a suspect's office in order to note down every single person who entered and left.

"Have you ever heard of a video camera?" Neal sniped from the corner.

"Caffrey, stop," Peter said, not even bothering to look at him. Neal glowered and crossed his arms, sinking lower in his seat. Too wrapped up in believing nobody cared about him, he missed Diana's concerned look at his low spirits.

He was silent for half an hour, stewing. He didn't try to join in with their boring conversations, or their stupid guesses that maybe the lady in yellow _meant_ something.

"Peter?"

"Yes, Neal?" Peter sighed, running a hand down his face. He could tell from the kid's tone that he wasn't trying to be helpful.

"Can I go?"

"Why would you be allowed to go, Neal?"

"I'm a consultant," Neal said snidely. "I fail to see how my services are required here. This is not specialist. This doesn't require me."

"You are my CI," Peter said shortly. "You go where I go."

"Lucky me," Neal replied, his tone insubordinate. "Well. I'm going now."

Peter turned to look at him, and raised an eyebrow.

"Diana," he said. "Cuff him."

"I'll pick it," Neal challenged as Diana locked his left wrist to the chair.

"Do it," Peter said mildly, looking back at the monitor. "See what happens."

It was a threat, thinly veiled, but a threat nonetheless. As much as Neal was seeking attention, he wasn't seeking the kind of attention Peter reserved for misbehaviour. Especially not in the van, in front of Diana. Still, he sat and sulked. Peter, even whilst 'disciplining' him hadn't bothered to pay him much attention. Normally, when Neal made a fuss in the van, Peter would keep him entertained with conversation, and promise to take him somewhere fun at the weekend. And if Neal continued whining, he would make him sit right next to him where he could keep an eye on him. Today, though, he clearly couldn't be bothered with Neal. Just like Mozzie.

Mutinously, Neal angled his wrist so that it was digging into the side of the handcuff. He exerted a little pressure, wincing slightly, and then waited. An hour passed very slowly.

"Peter?"

"Neal, if you're going to-"

"I need to relieve myself," Neal interrupted what would undoubtedly be another _leave me alone Neal_ sentence. He tried to make his tone polite and subordinate. It never really worked, but he thought he was close. "Please," he added, for effect.

Peter stood up, stretched and took the key from Diana. He unlocked the cuff from Neal's wrist, frowning slightly as he noticed the red groove on Neal's wrist. He grasped it, running his thumb lightly along the distressed skin. Neal winced strategically.

"Why didn't you say, if you were uncomfortable?" Peter asked, raising an eyebrow.

Neal shrugged. Peter stared at him for a second, before shaking his head.

"If you go two streets down, there are public toilets," Peter said, taking a bill out of his pocket and handing it to Neal. "Get us coffees whilst you're at it."

"Yes, sir," Neal said, saluting. Peter just gave him a look. Neal didn't waste any time springing from the van. He was feeling especially sulky now. Peter had _barely_ cared that his wrist was maimed. What a waste of time. He could have at _least_ shouted at Diana for not being careful. But then, he mused, Peter just thought he was a common criminal. Maybe that's why he didn't want to spent time with him anymore other than at work. And even at work, he didn't want to. Neal pouted. He didn't know what to do.

X X X  
An hour and a half later, with just half an hour left of the working day, Neal wandered back to the surveillance van. He had the good grace to feel slightly nervous, but he also didn't care _that_ much. Peter might be mad, but it was nearly the end of the day and Neal would be alone again anyway.

When Neal clambered into the van, only Diana was in there.

"Boss is looking for you," she remarked, reaching for her coffee. "You alright, Neal? You're pushing it today."

"I - yeah -" Neal said, caught off guard by the question. "I'll go find him."

"Alright, but stay close to the van," she replied. "He left about fifteen minutes ago, he should be heading back soon."

Neal jumped out of the van and spotted Peter straight away, storming towards the van with fury painted over his face. _Oh, now he cares,_ Neal thought sullenly. Peter got right in his face, his finger pointing angrily at Neal.

"Where have you been?" he growled.

"There was a queue," Neal said cockily, raising an eyebrow at Peter. "Why are you so mad?"

"Neal, I swear to God, if you keep this up-"

"Keep _what_ up?" Neal snapped. "I went to get coffee, and there was a big queue. I fail to see how I have culpability for that."

"I thought we were getting somewhere, Neal," Peter said in a low voice, still inches from Neal's face. "You've been just like a regular member of the team. I haven't had to run after you, or rescue you, or-"

"Well _sorry_ for becoming such an inconvenience again," Neal interrupted rudely. "Maybe you should just send me back to prison. Oh wait, then you wouldn't have someone to blame whenever _you're_ in a bad mood and need to take it out on someone."

" _I'm_ in a bad mood?" Peter exploded incredulously. "Neal, I'm angry because you've been acting like a child all day, not because I'm in a bad mood!"

Neal didn't say anything, just stared mutinously back at Peter's unwavering gaze.

"You're on overtime," Peter said after a moment. "You're going to make up that hour and a half tonight, in the office. Got it?"  
"Yes, your highness," Neal replied. "And would you like me to lick your shoes whilst I'm at your beck and call?"

Peter grabbed Neal's upper arm, squeezing it slightly in warning.

"Neal, do you want a spanking?" he said quietly, and right in Neal's ear so there was no way Diana inside the van could hear.

"Ooh yes, I do," Neal replied, unable to stop himself. What a ridiculous question. "I would love one. Thanks for offering, Peter."

Peter had to stop himself from grabbing the kid there and then and walloping him. But, he reminded himself, everyone had bad days. Neal had been through a lot, and he'd come out the other side a stronger, better guy. He had shown so much improvement recently, and Peter was proud of him. He didn't want to step in and come down on Neal if he was just having a bad day.

"Get in the van," Peter said, shaking his head.

Neal could have screamed. Not even ultimate sarcasm was enough to make Peter care. Almost foaming at the mouth in frustration, Neal stomped up into the van.

X X X

"Bye, Neal," Jones called over his shoulder as he left the office. The empty office. Empty except for Neal.

"Bye," Neal said, waving at his friend. It wasn't Jones's fault, after all. He shot a glare at Peter's office, where Peter was on the phone. After half an hour of cold cases and silence, Neal was done with it all. He pushed himself up from the desk and grabbed his jacket, shooting a glance at Peter's office, where Peter was tapping away at his keyboard.

He strolled out of the building, smirking at how stupid Peter was. But outside, he felt a sudden sense of emptiness. After all, now he was just going to go home to his empty flat and do what? Read some more? Paint again? Sighing, he considered his options. His eyes rested on Peter's car and he grinned.

Three minutes was all it took to hotwire the car.

"You'd think that the feds would have better built cars," Neal mused to himself as he screeched away from the office, into the empty streets.

He turned the radio up loud and wound the window down. The wind ran through his hair, and he pressed the gas pedal down. Rocketing through the streets, he didn't feel as good as he'd thought he would. Back in the day, the freedom of an empty city and a fast car and no strings would've felt great. But then, he mused, maybe he was getting old. Maybe now he wanted what other people had. Friends, family. People to spend your evenings with.

Shaking his head, he pressed the gas pedal harder.

The car started ringing, _Peter Burke_ flashing up on the monitor. Neal considered ignoring it but knew that Peter wouldn't report him unless he had to. He clicked the handsfree button on the steering wheel and waited.

"Caffrey, where are you?" Peter spoke quietly, calmly. He didn't shout. Neal realised in that moment that he may have miscalculated, slightly, what he was doing.

"Er...Peter… look…" Neal said. "I may have made a mistake."

"Are you in danger?" Peter asked, his concealed anger becoming concern.. "Has something happened?"

"No," Neal gulped, slowing the car down. "Look, I can explain…"

"I'm waiting," Peter said, his tone dangerous.

"Okay, so maybe I can't," Neal continued. "I...er….I don't know, Peter. I just...Look...I…."

"Neal. I know you're close because you haven't gone out of the radius, so you've got ten minutes to be in my office," Peter interrupted his scrabbling. "There better be no evidence of your illegal tampering with my car, or you're dead. And by the time you get here, I'm expecting a coherent explanation. Got it?"

"Peter…"

"Yes, Neal?"

"I don't think I can come back," Neal said tentatively. He'd always been bad at this part. The running away, the impulsiveness, sure. But taking responsibility? The urge to run was _phenomenal._ Self-preservation. Fight of flight. Neal had always, _always_ chosen flight.

"Neal," Peter said, and Neal could hear the sheer irritation in his tone. "You broke into, hot wired and _stole_ my car. I am a federal agent, and you are on a work release programme. Any other agent in the _world_ would have reported you straight away. You should be on your way back to jail right now and-"

"So send me back if I'm so much trouble!" Neal interrupted. He'd turned the car around, though.  
"Stop jumping to conclusions," Peter growled, his irritation finally coming through. "You know I would never send you back. I've put my job on my line for you time and time again, and, as long as I see the good in you, I will continue to do so. I don't know what's going on right now, but I'm not bloody having you go back to jail because you're throwing a tantrum. So you best get your ass in my office pronto."

Peter hung up and, even though he was terrified, Neal couldn't help but grin a little.

Walking back into the offices was one of the hardest things Neal had ever had to do. Three times he nearly turned around and ran off into the night. If he went home, what was the worst that could happen? He knew, deep down, that Peter would never actually report him. He might be pissed at him, sure. But he wouldn't send him to prison. But Neal forced himself to get in the lift and head for the office. Because, he reasoned, all of this had happened because he was lonely. Burning his bridges with Peter would only make that worse.

Peter was sat at his desk.

Neal, palms sweating, tried his best to walk casually to him. As casual as a man on death row can look.

"Sit."

Neal sat hesitantly in the spare seat, unable to actually make eye contact. His eyes flitted around the room, at the photograph, the clock, the paperwork-

"Eyes up," Peter said quietly. Neal swallowed and obeyed, and quailed. Peter looked fuming. "Got that explanation ready for me yet?" he asked.

"I don't know what I was thinking," Neal admitted quietly.

"Are you _serious_?" Peter exclaimed loudly, slamming his hand down on the desk and making Neal jump. "You _stole_ my car, risked _everything_ and you don't even KNOW why?"

"I just didn't think about it like that," Neal said, trying not to shrink in his seat. "I didn't think about the...risk."

"This is the problem with you, Caffrey, always has been," Peter snapped, sinking back into his chair and massaging his head. "You know, I just said to Elizabeth this morning that your impulse control had got so much better. I was going to take you to that stupid exhibition."

"Woah, Peter, never refer to DeGrazia as _stupid_ again, it makes you sound ill cultured-"

"Neal, do you want to stand in the corner?" Peter all but bellowed.  
"Why y-"

Peter's look was enough to cut off Neal's sardonic response and he shut his mouth, shaking his head frantically.

"I don't understand this, Neal," Peter said after a moment of looking at him in speculation. "I really don't. You've been fantastic, recently. Hardworking, law abiding, sensible. You've controlled your impulsiveness, trusted me, stopped sneaking around. And now, you steal my car. For no reason. After spending an hour and a half traipsing around the city instead of following my instructions."

Peter narrowed his eyes at Neal who, if he hadn't known him better, looked like he might have been blushing. Did Neal blush? Why would he be _blushing_? Peter's mind started to whir, piecing the bits of the puzzle together. The running outside his radius. Neal's reluctance to leave the car. Neal's attention seeking all day.

Peter leaned forwards and Neal gulped.

"You've been trying to get my attention," Peter said simply. "Why?"

"I have not," Neal said quickly, folding his arms.

"You have."

"I have not."

"Yes you have."

"No I haven't."

"Come here," Peter said suddenly, knowing that Neal was definitely more stubborn than him.

"No I ha- Er - _What_?" Neal mumbled, colouring fading from his face. "No, that's not necessary. I insist. I get it. I was wrong. I should go home now, it's _very_ late, shouldn't you be having dinner now? Elizabeth won't be happy if you're late. It will go cold."

"She's expecting both of us in an hour," Peter said shortly, raising an eyebrow. "I rang her after I realised you needed to do some overtime. She's making casserole."

"Both of us?" Neal replied tentatively, and Peter could tell from the way he looked slightly taken aback what was going on.

"Yes, Neal," Peter said. "We always have you round after overtime. Why do you sound surprised?"

Neal shrugged.

"Just haven't been round in a while," he said loosely.

"Did you steal my car and joy ride it across the city because I haven't invited you over in a couple of weeks?" Peter asked calmly.

" _No!"_ Neal insisted hotly, but this time he definitely was blushing. Put like that, it sounded very stupid, Neal mused.

"So why did you steal my car?" Peter questioned.

"Mozzie was busy," Neal said after a long silence. "I didn't want to be alone for another evening."

"But you weren't supposed to be going home," Peter replied pointedly. "You were supposed to work for another hour, as you owed me, and then you were going to come to mine for dinner."

"Didn't know that," Neal said stubbornly, examining his shoes.

"Come here," Peter said, after a moment.

" _Peter-"_ Neal whined, sticking out his bottom lip. "Please."

"Come. Here."

Neal stood up slowly and trailed over to Peter, shooting a glance towards the long abandoned office. Peter reached out and grabbed his wrist, tugging him closer.

"Peter, I'm _sorry,_ " Neal pouted, trying to twist his wrist out of Peter's grip. "I just didn't think, and I've learnt, I have. I know that I shouldn't steal your car. It won't happen again."

"I don't think so," Peter said sternly. "You know full well the only reason you've stopped being a hairbrained maniac is because I'm here to take you to task when you do."

"But Peter," Neal protested. "You said that you... do that thing...to stop me making the same mistake twice. I'm not going to make this mistake again. It wasn't a mistake you see. It was just a misunderstanding. I was just...lonely."

He clasped his hands in front of him and looked at Peter through his eyelashes. He looked about twelve.  
"Lonely or not, mister, you don't steal my car," Peter said, shaking his finger at Neal. "Imagine if someone had seen you! Imagine if Hughes had got wind of this. He likes you, sure, but not _that_ much."

"Peteeeer-"

"I'm waiting," Peter said, ignoring him. "The longer you take getting your ass over my knee, the higher the chances are of being late for dinner."

"El won't be happy when she finds out you spanked me for being lonely," Neal said, raising an eyebrow smugly.

"If that's why you think you're being spanked, maybe you need corner time before-"

"No, no," Neal placated, waving his hands wildly around. Neal probably hated corner time more than spanking. Probably. "I know why."

"Do you?" Peter asked, raising an eyebrow. "One smark arse remark, and I'm putting you in the corner."

Neal glowered. He'd had so many funny one liners in his head.

"Yes," he sulked. "I stole your car because I was bored."

"Right. And what else?"

"What...else?" Neal frowned.

"Your behaviour all day?" Peter prompted, starting to roll up his shirt sleeve. Neal tried not to visibly baulk at the terrifying sight. Why did Peter have to have such muscly arms?

"Oh."

"Oh, indeed. Elaborate, then, Neal, we don't have all day and -" as Neal opened his mouth - "Remember what I said about the corner."

"Ugh. Fine. This is against my rights, you know. Self-incrimination is - okay, okay, no, stop! I'm doing it!" Neal took a step away from Peter, who sank back in his seat expectantly. Neal sighed. "First, I never set an alarm so I wasn't on time. Then I was a bit grumpy in the van. And then I allegedly spent ages getting coffee and then when you gave me overtime, I stole your car."

"And now you're going to get the spanking you _asked_ me for earlier," Peter said, with a smug smile.  
"I suppose I may also have been a slight bit rude to you too," Neal acknowledged. "Sorry."

"Apology accepted," Peter said. "Now, over my knee."

Glowering, but trying to be gracious, Neal undid his belt and zip before he lowered himself over the elder man's lap, muttering under his breath. Peter dealt a crisp swat to the seat of his pants in warning. Neal became silent and Peter wriggled his pants down to his knees.

"Can we get this over with?" Neal asked. "All the blood is rushing to my head. I'm going to get brain damage."

"Oh sorry your highness," Peter said with a sharp series of swats to Neal's boxers. "Would you rather bend over my desk and have the belt?"

Neal didn't answer and Peter took that as his cue to start covering his backside in short, sharp swats. He smacked all over Neal's butt quickly, eliciting little whimpers from the man over his lap. The punishment always worked so well for Neal because he was so full of pride. Getting his backside smacked always brought him down, and the fact that he wasn't good with pain definitely drove the message home.

"You do not steal my car," Peter lectured, dealing a series of hard swats to Neal's left cheek, making Neal throw his hand back. Peter grabbed it in his other hand, holding rather than restraining.

"You do _not_ run out on me," Peter continued, moving to the right cheek and delivering another five hard swats to the same place. Neal whined.

"You do _not_ do **anything** that might land you in prison, just because you are bored," Peter said, grasping the waistband of Neal's boxers and pulling them down. Neal stiffened as he felt the cold air hit his burning ass, and felt his cheeks colour with shame.

"We're in the _office_ Peter," he groaned.

"Maybe it would do you some good to have someone see your ass being spanked like a naughty kid," Peter said, but he checked the office anyway. He would never embarrass Neal like that really. "There's nobody here."

He tightened his hold on Neal's hand and started smacking him again, in a repetitive pattern. Left cheek, right cheek, left thigh, right thigh. And repeat. He could feel Neal's skin warming up, and his hand was starting to sting. He could tell that Neal was struggling as his grip on his hand had become incredibly tight, and Neal was making small whining noises.

He paused, rubbing a hand gently along Neal's back.  
"Do you know what upsets me the most about this, Neal?" Peter asked calmly. Neal shook his head, his tousled curls flopping dejectedly. "Look at me," Peter said softly.

Neal huffed, blinked a couple of times to clear his eyes of the forming tears, and craned his neck around to meet Peter's man's brown eyes were soft, not angry.

"I've told you that whenever you have a problem, that you should come to me," Peter said quietly. "That doesn't just mean legal, Neal. You are like my son, you know that. You should have come to me."

"You were too busy for me!"

Peter raised an eyebrow.

"Neal, usually you are the one telling me that I'm being overbearing," Peter reminded him. "If you are by chance feeling needy, you need to tell me. Okay?"

"Kay," Neal said. "Are we done?"

"Nice try, kid," Peter smirked as he opened his desk drawer, rifling through it for something appropriate. He withdrew a sturdy wooden ruler, smirking at the horror on Neal's face. "Last bit."

He tapped the ruler lightly against Neal's red ass.

"How many things are you being punished for?" Peter asked.

"How _many_?" Neal asked.

"Yes," Peter confirmed. "List them."

"Do I have- OW!"

"Yes, you have to," Peter said, having dealt a mighty flick of the ruler to Neal's thighs.

"I went outside my radius yesterday. Then today I was late for work, I spent an hour and a half getting coffee and I stole your car. And I was rude to you. That everything?" Neal asked, peeking up at Peter.

"And the thing I was most upset about?" Peter pressed.

"I didn't come to you," Neal said sulkily.

"I'm going to give you one for each crime," Peter said. "Except for the last, which I consider most serious. I'll give you five for that. So ten. Ready?"

"No."

Peter raised the ruler and dealt a light swat to Neal's upper right cheek.

"Ready?"

"Did that count?" Neal whined.

"No, and you know it didn't," Peter said. "Are you ready?"

"Yes, oh Totalitarian One," Neal growled.

"I'll take that," Peter said. "I've been called worse."

He raised the ruler and brought it down five times on Neal's butt, working his way down. Each swat left a slightly deeper pink line on Neal's ass, and Neal gave in and started to cry quietly.

"And these are for not coming to me," Peter reminded him gently, raising the ruler. He gripped hold of Neal's hand tightly and delivered five very hard swats all to Neal's sit spot. Neal hollered and sobbed and bucked, and then it was over.

Peter set the ruler down as Neal hung over his lap, sobbing and trying to breathe. Peter rubbed his back, making small hushing noises as he gently pulled his underwear back up. After a couple of moments, Peter gently tugged on his shoulder and helped Neal to stand up. Neal fumbled for his trousers and when they up, Peter pulled him into a hug. Neal's arms wound round Peter and he clang to the older man, sniffling as he calmed down.

"I'm sorry," he said quietly. "I just felt like everyone was...too busy for me."

"Kid, I'm never too busy for you," Peter said, squeezing him.

"You didn't want to talk to me in the van," Neal pointed out, in a whiny voice.

"You were being annoying," Peter chuckled as they broke apart and Neal set about tucking his shit in.

"You didn't care that the handcuffs hurt me," Neal said, looking slyly at Peter.

"You did that to yourself," Peter pointed out, shrugging into his jacket and logging out of his computer. "Come on, trouble, let's go eat."

"Can I drive?" Neal asked, beaming at Peter. Peter rolled his eyes and swatted at Neal as he dodged past him.


End file.
